


Such a simple thing

by eclipseraider



Category: Tomb Raider (Video Games)
Genre: #SaveOurSam, Angst, F/F, Friendship, SS Endurance, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipseraider/pseuds/eclipseraider
Summary: "I have a feeling we're going to be best friends, you and me." She said, placing her hand on your bare arm and giving it a loving squeeze. You felt your heart hammering silently, and you knew. You knew that no matter how much you tried to avoid fate, you had already lost the war.





	1. I'll get through these chains

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Dedicated to Eri. I loved you in a language you couldn't understand.

There was always something different about Sam. You remember flickers of raven and a dazzling smile. The faint scent of tobacco and a reckless laugh. Pure and unfraid. You remember gravitating towards it, your stiff upper lip barely intact: "You're not supposed to be in the restricted section of the library."

The girl turned abruptly, leaving her makeout partner in suspense against the dusty shelf. God, the books were in absolute shambles! At least you'd found the root of the problem.

"Fuck. Sorry..." Came the sheepish reply. American, it seemed, with a hint of something else. Chinese? You couldn't be sure.

"Well I'm afraid you'll need to clean up that mess. This isn't a nightclub, and I'm not your butler."

She had this weird expression on her face. Disarming. Then she was brushing off your disapproval with a grin.

"I'm Sam." She said, too warmly. What's your name?"

Her hand was already stretched out expectantly.

A strange ire rapidly began to flutter its way up your throat."Look. I don't have time for idle chit chat. If you and your boyfriend - " and you pointed a damning finger in the young man's direction " - don't shelve those books and leave, I'm calling security."

"Woah, easy soldier." She winked, unperturbed.

Your mouth opened, but the scripted reprimands you'd practised for situations just like these (thousands of times) wouldn't come. Artemis, have mercy. Suddenly the ire was spreading, infecting every pore of your body with tiny electric shocks. But your eyes kept lingering. Obviously, your brain was just trying to decode the puzzle before you. Then something in your knee went limp. You made a blind grab for the nearest bookshelf, but stumbled forward instead, wildly off balance.

"Hey I got you - you ok sweetie?"

Warm hands steadied your shoulders, burning the skin they touched, and you quickly realised she was holding you, hyper aware of the lack of distance, the melodic sound of her voice, the glossy film covering her lips -

"I'm fine." The words tumbled out, brusque, dismissive. In an instant you'd pushed yourself away. Your thoughts were jumbled. Winston was definitely right about pulling too many all-nighters (you'd never tell him that). "Just clean the books, please." You repeated, a bit too stern.

"Roger."

Dazed and confused, you turned around, the soothing bowl of canned pumpkin soup in your sardine-tight studio flat on your mind. Since moving out of Croft manor, you'd been forced to sacrifice some of life's finer culinary delights, but there was no way you could just accept your parents' inheritance - you weren't about to become one of those sordid trust find kids. A breezy gush of laughter brought your introspection to a halt. It was that girl. Sam. A soft tingling filled your ears, compelled you to turn. Your eyes landed on her first. Specifically, the way her arm was casually draped around that bloke's shoulder and the negligible distance between them. It really shouldn't have made you so irate, seeing as they were in fact straightening out the disaster, and yet.

The stress was getting to you, was all. Your dad aways loved nattering on about how working too many jobs wasn't a good idea, but you liked keeping busy. A bit like your mum. She had an annoying ability to see right through you, really dig out your emotions - even ones you hadn't realised - so you'd started calling her Amelia Kent, much to her displeasure. "Lara, are you listening to me? The Davies chap is attractive and extremely hard working, I can arrange a meeting with his mother if you'd like. Lara?" One day, she'd illegally entered your room on a mad cleaning spree and come out with a knowing expression on her face: "My girl, don't be embarrassed to tell your own mother if you fancy Lulu instead of Lennon." And that was the last straw really. It motivated you to fix your door with a lock and tear down all the posters of female archaeologists on your wall. This was the only topic on which your mother, God bless her soul, was completely wrong. Sometimes you liked to place a bouquet of gardenias around her photo in memory. They were her favourite. Your dad's too.

You kicked off your boots, inhaling the variety store air freshener (potpourri this time) before closing the door to the outside world. Lara's lookout was endearingly claustrophobic. You'd grown incredibly fond of the bird who decided your roof was a suitable living space, too. It was nice to have an occasional distraction from your studies. And if not for Mr. Chirpy, you'd probably miss your morning lecture on Southeast Asian ethnoarchaeology - definitely in the top three most interesting classes you'd enrolled in. That was when your mind shifted unexpectedly. Sam had to be Southeast Asian, but there was something in her appearance that looked almost European. Was it the pinkish tint on her cheeks? No, it was her eyes, the imperceptible taupe that betrayed her mixed ancestry. Damn it. Now you remember what tipped you off. The constellation of freckles covering the bridge of her nose! That's right, you noticed it when you were close, her body pressed against yours, gentle, surprisingly pleasant, and dizzying, and her pretty mouth uttering words you weren't quite concentrating on and -

"Oh my God."

You slammed your fist into the wall, and silently thanked the stars your mum wasn't here to witness this moment. Then you vowed to do everything in your power to avoid Sam from that point on, starting with pumpkin soup.

Two weeks later

Operation: avoid Sam was going extremely well. There had been one instance in the cafeteria where you spotted her at the last moment, but thankfully, she was too preoccupied with friends and didn't notice you. She just seemed like the sort who'd accost you with an overzealous hug - even if she barely knew you - and after your shocking realisation a fortnight ago, you really didn't want to deal with that.

You frowned. This morning's lecture was unusually crowded, which could only mean one thing. The 'party crowd' was coming out of hibernation mode to do some exam preparation - eleventh hour, as usual. You sighed, found yourself an empty seat and pulled out your notebook, pen at the ready. Dr. Whitman was a good professor, even if he was rockstar levels of dishevelled. The other students had nicknamed him Axl Rose. You couldn't blame them.

"Hi, is this seat taken?"

You looked up to the right, and instantly wished you hadn't.

"Hey! It's you!" Sam sat down, excitement all over her face. Naturally, she was completely oblivious to your dramatic internal monologue and plans to escape.

"So...I never got your name last time."

This was it. The moment you'd been dreading. Somehow the universe itself must have been conspiring against you, but you thought of Joan of Arc, and summoned the courage to face the batallion.

"Lara. Lara Croft."

Sam flashed a smile.

"You're really photogenic, you know? Can I take your picture?"

Your face was on fire. Not literally. But you sure as hell felt like you were burning up. You watched her pull out a polaroid from nowhere, and visibly cringed.

"Oh come on, all the great cinematographers need to take pictures of their friends first."

Friend. Cinematography.

"Wait - what did you say?"

Sam looked at you with a quizzical expression.

"This is Frontiers of Cinematography, right?"

Dr. Whitman coughed into his microphone. "Jason, if you don't stop playing November Rain I'm going to ask you to exit the theatre." A burst of quiet giggles erupted in the audience. "Now. I hope you've all read up on last week's manuscript, because this week we're jumping to ancient Japan, and the latter half is all exam prep." He flicked to the first slide of his presentation - an elegant woman dressed in red and white robes, a golden crown upon her head, hair done in a shimada mage style -

"Hey, that's Himiko!"

Your head snapped towards Sam in disbelief.

"Very good! Miss -"

"-Nishimura." Sam provided, suddenly fascinated by the content of a class she apparently wasn't even registered in. Whitman nodded. He was impressed.

"As Miss Nishimura just pointed out, this beautiful creature's name is Himiko. She was an angry sun queen, a matriarch, and she ruled over the island of Yamatai from dawn till dusk."

Sam grinned, and turned to face you.

"Is this some history class? I love it!"

She had the most unique blend of clueless intelligence you'd ever come across. She was Japanese, not Chinese, and you were right, those ruddy spots on her nose were a dead giveaway as to her cross-continental roots. And if Himiko was a beautiful creature? Sam was breathtaking.

"I have a feeling we're going to be best friends, you and me." She said, placing her hand on your bare arm and giving it a loving squeeze. Your felt your heart hammering silently, and you knew. You knew that no matter how much you tried to avoid fate, you had already lost the war.


	2. My heart is like paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam smirked in the mirror, gazing back at you through the reflection. If you could frame this in terms of a Homeric odyssey, or an epic, this would be the point of no return. You barely knew the girl, and yet, every ancestral molecule in your brain was charged in her presence. A divine magnetism kept reeling you closer, until the words that poured from your lips felt like liquid fire: "You look amazing."

When your father wasn't trying to dissuade you from gaining employment (a good education was vastly more important in his eyes), he would talk endlessly about the Moirai. What laypeople called the 'fates'. Hundreds of yellowed tomes dedicated to the subject were spilled across the floor of his study, and you had asked him whether he had more books than friends. He smiled, but it was strangely hollow. Then, frowning as if he'd just remembered something important, he pulled out a fresh gardenia and threaded it through your hair.

"You look so much like your mother."

Breathy and resigned. He spoke like he'd lost a part of his soul. Maybe he had.

Sometimes, you wondered how different things would be if they were still here. What they'd think of your absolute rejection of their fortune. Your unhealthy predilection for Jaffa Cakes. Your...fondness for Sam. Since that eventful lecture, she'd scrawled her telephone number on a scrap of paper and thrust it into your satchel, insisting on "hanging out some time". You watched your fingers, violently trembling, but each time you made the penultimate dial, you'd hang up and seek consolation in chocolate biscuits. Mr Chirpy understood why.

Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a complete surprise when while tucked away studying in the most obscure corner of the library, you felt two hands wrap themselves over your eyes. But it did.

"Guess who?"

Your lips twitched involuntarily. "Sam." It came out like a squeak. Your efforts to ignore the call of the universe, to defy the fates themselves, were once again proving futile. She giggled, removing her fingers, but not the electric tattoo they left behind.

"I thought I'd find you here." She said, sitting down in the chair beside you without invitation. "How come I haven't heard from you?"

"I..." You swallowed the nervous pool of saliva forming in your mouth. "I got busy."

So much for the disciplinarian persona you'd summoned in the library.

"Huh. Looks like it's time for a break."

Before you could muster any coherent response, she'd swiped your notebook and deposited it inside her bag. Then her hand was in yours, intoxicatingly soft, yanking you out of your comfort zone. "Honestly Lara, I don't know how you can stand it. Reading books all day, slouched over a desk like a hermit? That's for old people! We're going shopping."

And that was how you found yourself inside the Brunswick Centre, completely out of your element. You could feel the saleswoman's eyes screening you suspiciously, as if you were a wolf masquerading amongst sheep. An unfortunate side effect of reading too much.

"Can I help you, madamoiselle?"

Practised politeness with a side dish of condescending smile. Unctuous, too. You sighed internally. This was but one of the many reasons you couldn't stand frequenting these sorts of establishments. Your mother adored them, seemingly impervious to all the insincerity. What was so bloody appealing about clothes, anyway?

"Lara! I need you."

You shook your head and quickly made your way towards the dressing room. Almost as soon as you arrived, Sam's hand pulled the curtain aside.

"It's a bit tighter than I expected."

She was wearing a black, figure-hugging dress that complemented her slim build in a ridiculously flattering manner.

"I just need you to pull up the zip. Can you get it sweetie?"

Your eyes trailed down the exposed patch of skin, and something inside you ignited. Was being ignited, rather. An uncharacteristic wild all the books in the world couldn't adequately explain. Logic would suggest not proceeding along this course. Of that you were keenly aware. You knew that breaking through the exosphere would eventually leave you so intertwined in Sam's world you might never be able to breathe the air of another. That risking such an odyssey, which could (and in this case would) leave your heart entangled with hers, might actually crush your soul and turn you into a zombie like your father.

You complied in total silence, praying the fates couldn't hear your thoughts.

"Damn, I look good. What do you think?"

Sam smirked in the mirror, gazing back at you through the reflection. If you could frame this in terms of a Homeric odyssey, or an epic, this would be the point of no return. You barely knew the girl, and yet, every ancestral molecule in your brain was charged in her presence. A divine magnetism kept reeling you closer, until the words that poured from your lips felt like liquid fire: "You look amazing."

She smiled. It was genuine. Suddenly you were smiling too, wider than the Chesire cat.

"This is gonna be sooo perfect for the dance! Oh! I almost forgot."

Sam knelt and began fishing for something inside her bag, which you soon discovered - much to your very undisguised horror - was her polaroid.

"No way you're getting out of it this time, Croft."

Her hand snaked around your waist, gripping your hip tightly so you were both in position.

"Say cheese!"

You did.

Maybe it wasn't just about the clothes.

Two weeks later

Having a friend was basically an alien concept to you. Especially one this exuberant. You were never especially good at socialising, and other girls found your interests, how should you put it - bizarre? You'll never forget the complete look of mortification on Alicia's (a classmate at boarding school) face when you informed her the bracelet she was wearing actually belonged to a deceased ancient Egyptian priestess. She never spoke to you again after that.

But with Sam, there was no such misunderstanding. Somehow, she could see through your walls, and look past any eccentricities. The first time she'd invited herself to your flat, she made a remark about how 'homely' it was, then noticed your perfectly ergonomical use of space.

"Holy shit. Do you seriously store books inside your kitchen cupboards? You are such a nerd!"

She laughed without the slightest hint of judgement. Later, she sat down with you in your cramped living room, drinking a beverage she didn't even like.

"I don't know how you can drink this. It tastes like old sock."

You shook your head, smiling. Americans. They'd never understand the magnificence of tea. And while you didn't ask Sam how she knew what old sock tasted like, you did end up having a very lengthy conversation, during which you learned that the young man in the library she was snogging was not in fact her boyfriend, but a "random fling" - which caused a very inappropriate flutter somewhere in your chest - and that she was hoping to meet someone at the end of semester dance.

"You're coming with me tomorrow, by the way." She said between grimaces. You made a mental note that she really disliked Twinings, and went into auto-pilot.

"Sorry Sam, I'd love to but - "

"No buts. Exams are over and I am requesting your presence at the disco, Lara Croft."

"Requesting?" You raised your eyebrows.

"Requesting." She confirmed with a grin, taking another sip before spitting it out onto the table. "Oops."

You rubbed your temple with two fingers, trying ever so hard to hold back laughter. Sam was wearing the guiltiest expression you'd ever seen. You thought it was cute how she scrambled for her bag, and retrieved something that looked like paper to mop it all up. Then you looked closer.

"What's that?"

"This?" Sam looked up at you then back at the cleaning instrument. You nodded. "Oh, it's really popular in Japan, actually. They call it origami. It's like an art form. A friend made it for me."

You couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from it. It appeared to be some type of bird. A swan, perhaps? Sam picked up on your curiosity and rolled her eyes.

"It's paper, Lara."

"Paper? Why something so fragile?"

She paused the cleaning, suddenly deep in thought. 

"I don't know...I guess we use paper 'cause it's flexible. That's its strength."

Flexibility. You supposed that's what Sam was doing to you. Making you flexible. Bringing you out of your shell.

Your lighthearted banter continued for the rest of that afternoon, but the origami bird stayed on your mind, occupying your thoughts even when Sam had left, and right into the wee hours of the morning. At the crack of dawn, you stifled a yawn and ventured out towards the local shops, asking owner after owner whether they had what you were looking for. Eventually, you found a very enthusiastic Chinese lady who could assist you.

You'd never been to a dance before. Not that you didn't have opportunities - there'd been parties at boarding school, a number of prestigious ballrooms your parents (and by extension, you) had been invited to, and impromptu campus celebrations practically outside your door (you'd rather forget those but the party crowd had designated your corner as retching central, for some reason).

You just never saw the point.

Until now.

Your dress was plain. Unworn. Faded white cotton without sleeves, but thanks to some insane stroke of luck, with pockets. The second you'd stepped into it, you missed your cargo pants and leather jacket - but you could just picture the shame on your mother's face if you dared to wear them instead. She'd be happy knowing you tried. You looked into the mirror and smiled.

The London sun was beginning to set. You looked at the clock on your wall and dashed into your bedroom, pocketing a very special gift. You couldn't forget it. Not tonight. No matter how much you were tempted to leave it tucked away in your drawer gathering cobwebs, and stay holed up like a recluse, you couldn't give in. That was the coward's way out. The Jaffa Cakes could wait. And you couldn't keep using Mr Chirpy like that.

Nervous energy filled your body from head to toe. Your feet carried you through the evening breeze, one step at a time, until the outline of the building came into view.

Sam spotted you first. She began waving her arm, and you gulped, not quite prepared for how it made you feel. Still, you pressed on, ignoring the dreadful anxiousness in your stomach.

"Lara!"

As soon as you were within walking distance, she ran up to you and enveloped you in a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away.

That was new.

A faint blush spread across your face. Sam didn't notice, though, because she was rummaging around her bag for something. It was now or never.

"I got you something."

She stopped searching.

"You did?"

Nodding, you wordlessly handed over the origami creation you'd made, fingers trembling slightly. It wasn't perfect by any means. But you'd tried your best, and you hoped Sam would appreciate it.

"Lara..."

Her eyes widened, and after several seconds, she lifted her gaze.

"Is this a gardenia?"

You nodded again, and a tiny smile appeared on the corners of your mouth.

"It's lovely...no one's ever - " She seemed momentarily astonished, though you figured she was just being polite. With the amount of suitors she'd had, this was probably just run of the mill. Nevertheless, Sam had this way of making you feel special. She stuck out her left arm, the corsage in the other.

"Put it on for me?"

You did, taking care not to accidentally rip the petals, and made sure it wouldn't slip off her wrist.

"Thank you, Lara."

You'd never seen her smile like that before. There was something unexpressed in her eyes this time, and whatever it was, you hoped it was similar to what you were feeling right now. She looked absolutely radiant. The black dress fit her like a second skin, and the grey eyeshadow and heavy mascara added a sultry touch. Sam broke the spell first, resuming her search until a triumphant "hurrah!" indicated success.

You watched her light a cigarette, and raise it to her perfect lips. The surprise countered your nerves enough for you to speak.

"You should really quit that, you know?"

"What?" She followed your glare. "Oh come on! This is the only luxury I can afford."

You sighed, exasperated.

"Don't come to me when your teeth turn to mush and you've got wrinkles all over your skin at 30."

"Chill, Lara. I'm immune."

You scoffed, and launched into a formal presentation about why smoking was actually very bad for your health, and how advertising was largely responsible for the "cool image" propaganda.

"Alright alright!" Sam let the white stick fall onto the ashen concrete, and stubbed it out with her heels. "There. All gone." There was a mild disappointment in her tone and demeanour, but you wouldn't budge.

"Sam. If I was as pretty as you, there's no way I'd even touch one of those things. Do you know the amount of damage they do to your lungs? Your nails? Oh, not to mention, if you smoke long enough, you develop this ghastly cough and - "

Then her index finger was on your lips, effectively pulling the plug on your speech.

"Shh. I won't do it anymore. But only because you asked me."

She smiled, slowly removing her finger. You were in familiar territory now - just north of dumbstruck on a fast track to hopelessville.

"And because you said I'm pretty."

At that, you found your voice.

"Sam! That's not a reason!"

Her laugh was beautiful and wild.

"Well it is to me. And for the record, you're not so bad yourself." She winked, and took your hand, leading you into the booming discotheque.


	3. Yours is like a flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking into Sam's eyes, you could feel the universe slipping. Order turned to chaos. Water burned. Fire froze. A million words somersaulted through your mind at once, competing for a chance to be vocalised. If you weren't plagued by a serial lack of confidence, you'd probably declare your feelings this instant and press your lips against hers, consequences be damned.

You could feel your heartbeat. Every thunderous boom was louder than the last, threatening to blow your cover. But you felt so alive. Sam's hand was in yours, and you felt like you were standing at the dawn of civilisation, watching the world bloom into a billion pretty colours. The music was terrible, and you'd never be caught dead in a place like this, but Sam's hand was in yours and that was all that mattered.

She weaved through the crowd of dancing bodies, leading you towards a table with punch. Only then did you feel her fingers separate from yours.

"God it's been too long."

"Since you last got sloshed?"

Sam elbowed you gently, and you laughed. She poured each of you a cup of the fizzy concoction, and gestured her arm into a toast.

"To new adventures!"

You clinked your cup against hers, secretly grateful she didn't dedicate the toast to 'finding hot guys', and took a swig.

"Ugh, what is this godawful thing?"

"Youth." Sam replied, grinning, before chugging down the rest of it.

"You're impossible."

"I think you mean immaculate."

"Sam..."

You groaned and tried very hard not to smile.

"Oh, you doubt me?"

Time for the nonchalant librarian, Lara.

"You do, huh?" She said, but you could tell she was still playing along. "Well, Miss Croft, I actually got you something too. I was gonna give it to you for your birthday but...well. You know me. I'm not that patient."

She stepped closer, and without asking (when does she ever?) she carefully looped something around your neck.

"It's jade." She said softly.

You clasped the delicate pendant in your fingers. It was beautiful. Fine, intricate craftsmanship that you instantly recognised as authentic. You swallowed, wondering where she'd managed to acquire it, and looked up again, quite speechless.

Looking into Sam's eyes, you could feel the universe slipping. Order turned to chaos. Water burned. Fire froze. A million words somersaulted through your mind at once, competing for a chance to be vocalised. But there was no way you could explain the truth to her without everything coming undone. Because then she'd want nothing to do with you.

If you weren't plagued by a serial lack of confidence, you'd probably declare your feelings this instant and press your lips against hers, consequences be damned.

But you're not that kind of girl.

"Thanks, Sam." You say instead, a warm smile on your face.

"Anytime. I bet all the guys won't be able to take their eyes off you now."

You swat her arm gently, and she chuckles.

"Well hello! Looks like I was right."

She's staring into a colourful sea of humans, cups and neon lights.

"No silly, over there." She pulls you to the right slightly, so you share her line of vision.

"I think that guy over there kinda digs you. You should go talk to him."

The guy in question is bespectacled with brown, spiky hair and a flustered expression. He looks uncomfortable. Like he'd rather be anywhere but here, and though you can sympathise, you scratch your head uncertainly. He smiles back awkwardly.

"Dude! He keeps checking you out. He totally wants to get jiggy with you."

"Sam!"

Her eyes have widened dramatically, and you can't help cracking a smile. Deep down, you know she's just trying to look out for you. But you didn't come to mix and mingle.

"Honestly, what is it with you Brits and emotions? You're like, the most reserved bunch of people in the history of mankind. I think I was right with that hermit theory."

You're about to protest, but she deliberately pushes you forward into the throng, and you need to find your feet, like a lamb that's learning to walk. When you do, you're almost encroaching on the personal space of Sir Flustered. You briefly considered escape, but he was already opening his mouth.

"The name's Alex. Y-You?"

The first thing you notice - something which you couldn't guess from a mere glance - is his American accent, which has you wondering exactly how many exchange students are actually on campus.

"Lara."

"Lara." He says, apparently enjoying the sound of your name. "L-Lara, would you like to dance?"

He extends a sweaty palm, and you sigh quietly. You were defintely going to have a word about this with Sam later.

"I'd love to."

His face lights up when you take his hand. You smile politely and let him rest his other hand around your back, and he nervously tries to initiate a slow dance. After some mistimed steps, you've both fallen into a pleasant groove, though you notice the horrid music just a tad more.

"So...do you have a...uh, I mean, what are you studying?"

Allister does seem rather sweet, even if you can read him like a book, and are completely aware that is not what he wanted to ask you.

"Archaeology. How about you?"

But your mind is elsewhere, so whatever his answer is, it slips past your consciousness and dissolves into the bass riccocheting on the dance floor. You quickly scanned the dancefloor, and eventually, your eyes landed on Sam. You could just make out her figure in the distance. A single cup of alcohol had seemingly turned into numerous shots; her gait was afflicted by a noticeable wobbliness (as predicted). You smiled.

You wished declarations of love were simple. Love was simple, so why wasn't it equally simple to make a confession? Mathematically, it didn't make sense. It shouldn't have carried such a degree of risk. It should have been effortless, like the pondskipper who manipulates the hydrogen-oxygen lattice to create ripples across the water's surface and attract a mate. As easy as breathing.

"...just more into tech stuff, you know? But once place I'd totally go to is Japan. There's just so much cool mythology there and..."

You glance up at whatever his name was, nod, then look down again, stealing glimpses of Sam - who has somehow entered the general vicinity. Finally, a good song!

She's slow dancing with a muscled-up athlete, the tall, dark and mysterious kind, and it makes you antsy whenever he repositions his hand around her lower back. She doesn't seem to mind, though. She's gazing into his eyes intensely and you don't know why. You watch him, a smug smile radiating off his face. His hand goes lower, and lower and -

You hear her soft laughter, and look away like you've been burned.

"L-Lara? I was wondering. If you're not too busy, did you want too hang out during the spring break?"

Lights around you flash like kaleidoscopes as I Want To Know What Love Is continues to play. Somehow, you're finding it difficult to breathe. Like someone just threw a bucketload of coals onto your heart and set it alight, fanning the flames with paper.

Paper.

It's a reflex by now. You redirect your eyes towards Sam. The flower corsage has a small tear in the wristband, and she's all pressed up against him. The bastard. You've still got enough moral fortitude left to know you're being unfair, that insulting her dance partner is beneath you, and that you have no right to control who Sam flirts with, but you don't much care, because she's leaning up on her toes, grin disappearing beneath his idiotic curly mop of a hairstyle, and - and -

The music stops.

Correction - you've stopped, and everything around you has become unfocused. The only thing that exists, that is real right now, is Sam, and the fact that she's...she's kissing this bloke, a complete stranger, on the lips.

She's kissing him.

Thunderstorms begin lashing down in your heart, burning the chambers to a crisp. Black gales mercilessly uproot veins, arteries and capillaries, and the dams behind your eyes are threatening to burst, but all you can do is stare blankly into space.

You run.

You hear faint protests and annoyed exclamations as you push through the celebrations, knocking into several strangers, but you just need to get the hell away from here.

Pretend this whole thing with Sam never happened so you can be yourself again.

You can do that. You're going to be just fine. You're a good student. You're not tempted by ridiculous parties and lavish gifts. You're not so gullible to believe that true friendship really exists. You're not attracted to - to -

You feel heavy, like the sinking Titanic struggling against invisible waters. Dim voices, garbled, are filtering through the surface. Someone's there, shouting in a frenzy, desperate to throw you a life buoy.

All you want to do is drown.

"Lara! Lara are you ok?"

Sam's panicked voice reverberates around the foyer. Your legs stop running.

"Lara?"

You didn't realise it, but you're shaking. You slowly fall to the floor, finally letting the tears flow, and prop yourself up with your palms. They burn against the cold stone. Then there's a flurry of heavy strides. You don't look. Can't look. Won't look. But the fates aren't done with you yet, because familiar hands are underneath your arms, heaving you up with difficulty.

"Lara, what's wrong? Talk to me."

Sam. Sam's peering straight into your soul, and you don't want her to see. You never wanted her to see you like this - a pathetic, sobbing heap with poor emotional control. To be frank, it's embarrassing. If you could be anywhere but here, even if that meant a fictional island that was overrun by murderous cultists who were constantly hunting you down, you'd teleport there in an instant. You wouldn't mind an immortal army, either.

But life doesn't work that way.

You take a jagged breath, pausing your sobs for a moment. The feelings you kept under lock and key had grown too big to keep inside your heart.

It came out like a whisper.

"I like you, Sam."

She stared at you, eyebrows creasing, like you just spoke to her in an extinct Yucatan dialect. A few seconds passed. She almost seemed lost, but something in her face changed. She looked down at the corsage, then back at you, and her eyes went wide.

"Oh God...Lara I'm so sorry, I just - fuck, I dont - I didn't think - you and I - we - "

A huge part of you is livid. Angry at the fates for tempting you with such a sweet promise, letting you ascend to the heavens, and then quickly erasing the clouds beneath your feet and watching you fall down into this bottomless pit. The other part is angry at yourself for misreading all the signals.

Sam looks to the side, almost guilty, and it opens your wound a little more.

You take another breath. The memory of sock tea surfaces. The blissful afternoon in the clothes store, your unexpected meeting during the lecture, shared laughter...a rush of calm weaves its way across your chest. Normalcy. As you exhale, you can still feel the heartbreak threatening to pull you down, but it's tempered by something else. Inside your battered soul, there's the knowledge that Sam, in her own, overenthusiastic way, has given you so much more than you could've hoped for. That she is actually the best thing that ever could have happened to you. And she is choosing to be here with you now.

You smile, but it's strangely broken.

"I-It's ok." You wipe your face with the back of your hand, shaking your head. "This is all my fault...I shouldn't...shouldn't have assumed - shouldn't have thought - oh bollocks I'm not making any sense! I n-never should have put you in such an awkward - "

"Shut up you goof." Sam wraps her arms around you, holding you in a tight embrace. You close your eyes, and see lines of books. A restricted sign. Soothing music plays in 4/4 time. It's the dance you couldn't have.

"You know I love you, right?"

You feel the words against your neck, the distinct scent of alcohol flavouring her breaths. They're traces of oxygen.

"Lara...you're the best friend I've ever had. I don't care if you're reserved, or dorky...hell, I don't even care that you drink sock tea. You mean everything to me. I...I don't want to lose you. "

She pulls away just enough so she can look you in the eyes, and cups your face, gently. Her eyes are watery too.

"Please don't run away from me."

You stare back at her for a moment that seems interminable. Tears continue to stream down your face, staining your cheeks with bittersweet pain. You know it's ridiculous. You've only known her for a little over a month, but she's changed you, and if it wasn't for Sam holding you right now, your entire body would collapse into a shivering, uncontrollable mess. You raise your own hand so it covers hers, and let your eyes close again, inhaling deeply.

Just once more, you need to breathe this air.

Just once more.

God.

Your dad was right. He was bloody right. You thought he was a fool, but he was brilliant. It had to come to this, but you finally understood his suffering. You understood that the risk was worth the pain, that a broken hallelujah was better than bulletproof agnosticism, that you could be flexible, even if that meant you were susceptible to fire, that you couldn't run away from love or consign it to the realm of unbelievables like the tooth fairy, Santa Claus or the Easter bunny. That even though Sam couldn't be your soulmate in this dimension, the fates weren't powerful enough to prevent your meeting, or the countless adventures you would no doubt have with her in the future. So you comply, knowing the fates will hear you.

"I won't. That's a promise."


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam was your weakness, and yet, it was her that made you flexible. Made you strong. And despite trying to stay away from her in small breaks, mostly to heal the pain, you'd come to appreciate the bittersweet suffering. Hope was nice, no matter how fleeting it was.

You really can't believe it sometimes. How a chance encounter in a library lead to a discovery that was better than any archeological find. Sam was one of a kind. Her overzealousness would be the death of you, but you'd figured that out a long time ago. She was your weakness, and yet, it was her that made you flexible. Made you strong. And despite trying to stay away from her in small breaks, mostly to heal the pain, you'd come to appreciate the bittersweet suffering, which was indeed masochistic, but that was the oxygen you needed to survive.

Survival.

The word kept playing on your mind for reasons you weren't quite aware of.

Back in England, you were surviving off wages you earned, adamant in your refusal of the Croft inheritance. But you weren't home anymore, and graduation felt like such a long time ago. It was very begrudgingly that you accepted Sam's offer to fund your expedition into the Dragon's Triangle, a perilous ocean territory inside which you believed Yamatai, once a place confined to Dr. Whitman's lecture theatres, was located. It was strange, but you swore that something inside you kept guiding your every move, as if a magnet was pulling you towards your destiny - whatever it was.

That's how you wound up inside a musty ship bunker, chained to a desk and poring over research, completely convinced that Yamatai was waiting to be discovered just to the east. You knew Whitman would disagree; he always went by the book. The cartographers hadn't mapped out the region accurately enough, and he was of the opinion the ship should head west, but you trusted your hunches. They were usually right. Usually.

"Here's the soon to be famous world archaeologist, Lara Croft, in her native habitat."

Oh God. Not again.

"She's on the hunt for the lost kingdom of Yamatai, home to the fabulous Himiko, mythical sun queen, and, ancestor of yours truly."

You tried suppressing your inevitable smile.

"Sam...this is serious."

"Oh sweetie, I know. I'm just trying to lighten the mood here."

After all this time, you still couldn't help looking up hopefully whenever she used endearments like that. Her eyes were hidden behind a flashy new video camera she'd purchased just for the trip.

"Everyone's so on edge. What are you so worried about?"

You sighed. Hope was nice, no matter how fleeting it was.

"I'm close to something. I'm sure of it. I just don't know if the others will listen. Or...even if they should."

"Lara...you know this stuff better than anyone. Seriously! I'm not just saying this to make you feel better. I trust you, Roth trusts you, you got this. Now let's take a break, ok?"

You turned to face her, silently grateful that someone cared enough to pull you out of the sea of research. You could never save yourself from it, it seemed.

"Ok, ok. And Sam...thanks."

As she slowly walked away, you caught her mumbling something about you not always being "this serious", and that just made you smile again. If it wasn't for Sam constantly saving you, you probably would have been.

Maybe it was time you tried saving her for a change.

A/N: I would gladly go down with the the SS Endurance...writing this crushed me. But I hadn't seen many unrequited Sam/Lara fics and stupidly decided to contribute. Y'all are free to imprison me.


	5. Such a simple thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Before Yamatai, I was just a photography major who liked having a bit of fun every now and then. Then I met this librarian with a book fetish who was a lot nicer than she pretended to be, and for some reason, I felt this weird connection to her. After graduation, we travelled to a psycho island with a dead queen, murderers, and really, really bad tanning weather. When she rescued me from death a third time I...I guess I started looking at her differently"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unplanned chapter/alternate ending - thank you to littlecupcake for requesting.

Pain. All you could feel was pain. The open gash in your abdomen kept spurting thin slivers of blood, threatening to steal your life force. You winced. With one mud-stained hand covering the fresh wound, you limped forward, hitting the rocky walls with your shoulders. The tiny glimmers of light ahead were blurring out of focus.

Focus.

Sam's Nikon D5100 could track 3D objects with some kind of autofocus feature, and then, somehow, she was right there in front of you, filming the crew's successful landing on Yamatai. The sun blazed hot as you watched Whitman alight the ship with Reyes, Jonah, Grim and Roth. Alex was straggling behind for obvious reasons. You discreetly rolled your eyes in Sam's direction, and she grinned at you through the lens.

"I told you, Lara. It's the necklace. Draws in guys like a magnet."

"Is that honestly the only reason you bought it?"

"Well..."

You gave her a look.

"Ok, busted." She laughed, suddenly turning serious. "The cranky old man who persuaded me to buy it said it was a protective charm or something."

"You mean it's an amulet?"

"Maybe." Sam paused, and put the camera down. Her eyes were on the amulet. You watched her close the distance between you and scoop it up into her palm.

"Whatever it is, it's pretty right?"

She looked up at you and smiled. You felt your heartbeat increase its tempo just a fraction, but her explanation had intrigued you - you were about to ask her why she thought you needed protection when a vicious bolt of pain ran across your waist, shattering her face into disjointed fragments. Startled, you glanced around and quickly realised it was another vision. This island was exceptionally good at that - making you see things that weren't actually there.

Yamatai was cursed. You could feel it. There was something - or someone - keeping it hidden beneath a never-ending belt of storms, hallucinations and bad energy.

But even your suspicions weren't an adequate buffer against witnessing the madness first hand. It made you wish you'd stuck to the fantasies - they were far less frightening. A blood-curdling, inhuman howl pierced your eardrums. Your hands were smeared with blood. Sam - the poor darling - was she ok? Your gaze snapped towards her and relief flooded your veins. She was alive. You walked towards her, every limb and muscle aching with indescribable weight, and knelt down.

"Sam...oh Sam." You breathed, lifting her body. "Thank God."

"Ugh...Lara, what's happening?"

"Shh. I'm here...You're safe now."

Moaning, she took hold of your arm for support.

"It's ok, it's ok."

"You saved me..." She said, adoration in every syllable. "I knew you would." You felt her hand tap lightly on your skin. It burned both times. It shouldn't have been possible, but the way she said it - the way she was looking at you right now - it made you feel for her all over again. The dormant spring you'd buried with rocks, clay, and other geological formations erupted in a full-blown geyser, and you didn't try to stop it. Wouldn't. Couldn't. God, you never had a chance.

"I made you a promise. Let's get you home."

Home?

A sharp pang in your abdomen again. Damnit! You were still in that bloody cave. Clearly the agony was distorting your perception, so you scraped at the last energy reserves and trudged forward. You were almost there. The light was so blinding blotched patterns and neon flashes kept bouncing across your field of vision. It stung. You closed your eyes and leaped through the aperture.

Then you were falling. Plummeting endlessly into darkness without a steering wheel, a rancid, decaying aroma seeping into your chest, your mouth, your nostrils, an army of Solarii ghosts closing in on your coordinates, and Himiko, that 'beautiful creature', smiling mirthlessly as she plunged a blade straight into your heart again and again and -

"Sam!"

You felt arms cradling you. The soft brush of hair on your cheeks. Sam was holding you so tightly you almost couldn't breathe.

"I've got you, I've got you."

She kept repeating it, rocking you back and forth, and, slowly, the anxiety began to ebb.

"It's ok sweetie...everything's going to be alright."

She was right. Once you were off Yamatai, things were mostly alright.

Except when they weren't.

Like you, Sam had become clingy. It wasn't such a surprise considering what she'd been through - been forced to march down the aisle of doom with a megalomaniac insistent on sacrificing her soul to a demon queen. Some 'ancestor' that was. At night, she'd wake up fighting invisible nightmares, and wind up in your room gripped to your body like a vice.

That was how many of your nights went by; curled up in each other's arms, Sam shouting back at Himiko in her sleep, you unwinding her hands whenever they'd tighten behind her back like they'd been bound by rope, absorbing every blow intended for that disillusioned man, and when she woke, listening to her apologise over and over as guilty tears streamed down her cheeks.

"It's not your fault. It's mine." You'd say. But Sam never let you shoulder the blame.

"Lara, I swear to God, if I hear you say that one more time I'm sending you back to that good-for-nothing therapist."

Sometimes, you heard her screams fading down the corridor. You'd eventually find her propped against the balcony railing, reenacting her encounters with Mathias, her attempts to escape capture. It broke your heart every time, and you would dash over and roughly shake her into consciousness, because gentle pushes never worked. Eventually, life would reanimate her features. You watched as she took a few rapid breaths and gazed into your eyes with absolute terror.

"I...I don't know what I'm doing." She trembled. "I don't know who I am anymore, Lara."

"Sam - "

She collapsed into you, and you could feel her body heat. The way she relaxed against you with complete trust was [too much](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiIa2AANHOA), and then, when her defences fell apart, you could hear the pitter patter of hushed tears. Your eyes closed.

"Sam, the only one who lost themselves in that godforsaken place was me. I turned into a monster. I killed people. "

You hesitated.

"I know who you are. You're extraordinary. You're...you're breathtaking."

She buried her face against your neck, and after a few moments, her sobs stopped. There was silence. You were worried you'd said the wrong thing, that maybe Sam didn't want to be reminded about nearly losing her soul to an immortal being from another century, and silently berated yourself. So you weren't expecting a response. Usually, she'd stay like that, pressed against you until she felt safe, and then she'd wordlessly disappear straight back into her bedroom. Then again, you had never called her extraordinary to her face.

"I am like, technically half god now, right?"

It was the first time you heard her attempt a joke in months. You laughed. Genuine and unrestrained, and it must have been infectious because suddenly Sam was laughing too.

"I suppose you are."

She pulled away from you slightly.

"Breathtaking, though...hmm, I don't know. Nobody's ever called me that before."

There was definitely a playful tone in her voice. A bit like that day when you were standing outside the disco, but with an edge. It puzzled you. When you finally remembered the other half of your sentence you felt your face grow hot.

"Oh! S-Sorry - I didn't mean to imply - " You shook your head. "It's just..." Nice one, Lara. You swallowed. "Well...I always thought you were goregous. I mean, Himiko - Whitman seemed to have this weird crush on her, but let's be honest, he obviously had shit taste in women not to notice the most beautiful one was in fact you, and he was a complete and utter git for just handing you over to the Solarii like that. If he had any sense or reason - "

Sam's lips were on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. The sensation was foreign and intoxicating and new. Her kiss lingered but she withdrew too soon - for your liking, anyway. She smiled at your stunned expression, and you swear - you absolutely swear that for a nanosecond, her eyes flickered down to your lips. Artemis was your witness. Before you had any more time to process what happened, Sam turned and vanished into the house.

You took a deep, long breath, and looked up to the heavens.

"Mum? You better not be playing tricks with me."

A few days passed and the balcony incident was gone and forgotten. You decided to keep things lighthearted. You didn't mind. Seeing Sam happy was the best gift you could've received, and you were familiar with the fates and your peculiar little arrangement. It was a Thursday morning, and judging by the bleariness in your eyes it must have been early. Sam was probably still asleep. You tiptoed quietly into the oversized kitchen, filled the kettle, and sighed. It was nothing like your old lookout. You missed your old bed. You missed Mr Chirpy.

"Lara?"

Sam's voice echoed from the living room. You turned, a little impressed to see her lying down on the sofa. A book in her hands.

"Morning." You flashed a cheerful smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you up."

"Ugh, I couldn't sleep. Bad dreams again."

You paused. Usually she'd come to you whenever she had nightmares. The confusion on your face must have been visible, because she spoke up again.

"I...didn't want to bother you."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Sam, you never bother me." The kettle started whistling furiously, so you relieved it of duty and prepared two cups. "What are you reading, by the way?"  
  
"The complete history of the Aztec. It's the most boring thing I've ever read - long paragraphs, tiny letters...and no mention of chocolate at all."

"Cacao. That's in volume two." You grinned.

An inevitable groan followed.

"Wait, Is that coffee? Forget the comment about the book - you're the best."

"Well," You began, handing her the steaming mug before sitting down, "What kind of friend would I be if our house didn't stock an international range of beverages?"

Sam sipped at the dark liquid, relishing its flavour. You smiled mischievously.

"I haven't a clue how you drink that, Sam."

Her eyes narrowed, but you could see her half-smiling.

"I'm told it's an acquired taste." She used her best posh accent, which was still terrible. "Love, can you put the telly on?"

"Only if you promise you'll stop talking like that."

"Fiiiine. If I must."

You'd not had this kind of exchange since before Yamatai, and it was odd, but in a good way. It left you warm and fuzzy inside, laughter threatening to spill fom the corners of your mouth. The TV blared to life and you rejoined Sam - who had already finished half her mug. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a folded white paper wedged inside the book. It looked like a flower - oh.

"So," She repositioned herself to face you, and put down the coffee. "I was thinking."

"Yeah?" You squeaked.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way. But I kind of see you as two people now - shy, wouldn't harm a fly university student, and fearless archaeology warrior - the 'conquers all who dare to defy her' type. So I think it's time we come up with a name for you. Like, an official name. How about Lara the demon slayer?"

Your turn to groan. You felt things settle back to normal, and carefully considered her proposal.

"Let's see...I prefer 'tomb raider.'"

"Pfft." Sam snickered. "That'd never catch on."

"According to whose jurisdiction?"

"Queen Samantha of London's. I thought that was obvious."

"Erm," You lean in, stage-whispering, too caught up in the moment. "Sorry to inform you, your majesty, but England's already got a reigning monarch."

"Is that so? Well. Looks like I'll have to summon Lara the demon slayer to deal with that issue."

"Sam!"

Your eyes widen a little. She's smiling at you, clearly enjoying the organic push and pull. Once the momentum dies, you realise you're sitting closer than usual, and the way the sofa bends and dips in the centre means you can just feel Sam's knee bumping against your leg. The TV's been on the whole time, but apparently, both of you tuned it out.

Sam's been quiet for a whole minute now. Ok, for her, that was severely out of character. You would have pardoned thirty seconds, but any more than that and something was up. Even Yamatai hadn't fully quelled her gregarious nature.

"Sam? Is everything ok?"

She's studying you, intently. It's almost as if she wants to say something, but fear keeps holding her back. You'd know all about that. So, against your better judgement, you shifted closer and gently took both her hands in yours.

"If you need to talk about anything - anything at all - I'm right here."

You have no idea how you just said that without stuttering - especially given your proximity and the amount of physical contact going on. Sam seems surprised, too. Inside though, it's another story. Your aorta is pumping faster than a fuel tank in a Boeing 747 and the likelihood that Sam brings up what happened the other day is so unrealistic you actively chide yourself for entertaining the possibility. What you have now is sufficient. You'll always love her from a distance.

"Lara..." She begins, uncertainty in her cadence. "After everything that's happened, I don't know how to say this."

She glances down at your linked hands and takes a breath.

"Try me."

"Ok...um...Before Yamatai, I was just a photography major who liked having a bit of fun every now and then. Your typical happy-go-lucky party girl. Then I met this librarian with a book fetish who was a lot nicer than she pretended to be, and for some reason, I felt this weird connection to her. But she was really reserved, so I decided to make it my personal mission to show her there was more to life than manuscripts and theories. I just wanted her to get out there. One day, after she finally felt comfortable around me, she confessed her deepest secret. I was shocked. But I still wanted to be her friend, even though I didn't feel the same way. I told her I loved her and asked her not to run away. She promised she wouldn't. After graduation, we travelled to a psycho island with a dead queen, murderers, and really, really bad tanning weather. She said it was for research, but it almost ended up taking her life - and mine. A few crewmembers did die. But every time I thought it was over, she'd turn up and save me at the last second. At first, I was grateful. I'd never had a friend who would risk themselves for me like that. Gratitude slowly became admiration. When we were reunited a second time, I didn't want to let her go. But then, when she rescued me from death again, a third time, when she came back to stop a madman from sacrificing my soul, and carried me down a mountain away from all the horror, I...I guess I started looking at her differently. "

At that point, Sam looked up and stopped. An enormous part of you was petrified. Quite literally. You couldn't unhook your fingers from hers because - try as you might - you'd forgotten how to move. The other part of you was pure, nervous energy, bouncing around the room in chaos.

Sam swallowed.

"L-Lara, have you ever felt something you didn't think you were capable of feeling?"

Oh God. Zeus? Athena? Shit, was Himiko available for round two? Your brain was overloading. This had to be a dream. Maybe you were still on Yamatai after all.

"Out on the balcony the other day, I wanted to...to..."

No. This just couldn't be happening. Somehow, you abruptly removed your hands from Sam's, and tried to stand. You needed to escape. When you woke up, you'd be alone with your sheets again, possibly even stuck in that infernal cave, but damnit! She kept pulling you back down on the sofa to continue the vision!

"Sam I can't - "

Her lips brushed over yours, softly, experimentally, and you felt your mouth tremble with longing. Sam's hands rested on your cheeks, guiding you closer as she deepened the kiss.

It was real. Shit, it was real!

You pushed her away, swatting at her hands. She sought your lips again, unsatisifed (if you were being honest, you were too). Her hands threaded through your hair this time, and her lips roamed across your shoulder blade and into the shallow curve of your neck; she bit into a sensitive spot and made you gasp -

"S-Sam...We...we should stop."

They were the hardest four words you'd ever said. And you didn't mean them. Not one. But you were plagued with concern. Had the fates really changed their stance so easily? Would there be a price to pay?

She looked back at you through teary eyes.

"I can't stop."

Your entire body shuddered.

"But...Sam, what if it all falls apart? What if the nightmares keep coming? What if being around me just brings you down?"

"I'm only [good with you,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xme2eno-omo) Lara."

Her eyes were already fluttering closed again, hands beneath your shirt, mapping the contours of your back like an Olympic torch, lips moving against your own with want.

"Stop running away from me." She breathed.

And in that moment, you realised. There was one thing the fates couldn't control. Not completely, anyway.

Free will.

You kissed her back, consequences be damned, and everything fell into place. 


End file.
